


Wired

by stillskies



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillskies/pseuds/stillskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is only when he dies that he truly begins to live. (Although he's not sure if it's really living when you are truly dead.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wired

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muuchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muuchan/gifts).



> Many quotes from the Five Generals were taken from chapters 57-58 of the manga and tweaked slightly, although the original intent of the quotes remains unchanged.
> 
> Please note that is conjecture on my part: very little is known about Watari's life and the first few years of his death. Also, I have taken the liberty of deciding which of the Five Generals is Gyokuto, but there is no real way of knowing whether or not Gyokuto is separate from the Five Generals or one of them. My thoughts are that he is/was part of it at one point, but events led to his current state.
> 
> Hinote has been borrowed (albeit in a slightly less sinister form) with permission from [redacted], courtesy of the [redacted] universe.
> 
> That being said, I do hope that you enjoy this. This was my first foray back into the series (I've been away too long) and it was a delight to have the ability to take on this sort of a challenge. Thank you for the fantastic opportunity. ♥
> 
> Also, much love and appreciation to [redacted] for the beta, and to [redacted], [redacted] and [redacted] for being sounding boards and reading the rough version of this. Many, _many_ thanks to [redacted] for her old Watari notes and letting me build on some of her theories. You are all amazing and this story wouldn't be what it is without you. ♥♥♥ Any resulting mistakes are mine and mine alone.

The sky is a mess of smoke and ash and brilliant streaks of pure white peeking through the red haze when he dies. Flames lick at his body, consuming first his jacket and then his skin, his flesh, wrapping him in the blaze. It's a struggle to keep his eyes open, to concentrate on the screams around him, the sobbing that hangs in the air, as though waiting to break and cool the inferno they had created, but he tries.

When he finally closes his eyes, it is to a torrent of water flooding in and drowning him.

*

The coughing fits shake him awake, as though his body is trying to expel the smoke and water and debris from his lungs, to allow him to gulp in the cool air with no regard to the fact that it shouldn't be moving, that it should be lying in the wreckage of an office, burned and bloated beyond recognition. Slowly, he opens his eyes, carefully keeping control of his breathing to keep from hyperventilating.

He has never been in this room. The walls rise into the sky, cold granite interspersed with lush velvet draperies, and he can see no hint of their end. He is sprawled across plush carpeting that his fingers sink into as he tries to push himself up, to sit even if he cannot stand. Metal sconces decorate the walls, evenly spread to keep the shadows from being too deep, but not bright enough to banish them. There is no furniture, no doors – nothing but the walls and the floor and the probable ceiling too high to be visible. 

"I see you have awakened."

The voice comes from behind him and he turns too quickly, twisting at the waist, to see his companion, only to start retching. The sound bounces around, filling the cavernous room with the noise of his stomach expelling its contents. He rolls to the side once he is done and stares up into nothing. "Funny," he says to the ceiling, "I thought death was the one thing you _couldn't_ wake up from."

A soft chuckle follows his declaration, but he doesn't bother to search it out; instead, he focuses on breathing, on regaining control. His chest is too tight and his stomach clenches worryingly, but he continues to take shallow breaths, holding them for a moment, and then exhaling them.

"I suppose awakened was the wrong word. I suppose arisen would be more appropriate."

His laugh is humorless. "So, is the afterlife really an empty room with a mysterious voice?"

"No," the voice assures him. "This is simply… a waiting room. A place between worlds, if you will." There is a faint trace of amusement, as though this person he cannot see knows something that Yutaka does not. 

"Fantastic," he says. "While I'm waiting, do you think I could get a glass of water and two aspirin? Death by burning and drowning has left me with a headache."

There is no reply, but he supposes that is just as well.

*

"Congratulations, Watari Yutaka-kun," the proctor says emotionlessly. "You have passed this exam admirably. Once you have passed the palace exam overseen by His Majesty Enma-Daioh-sama, you will be officially recruited into the Summons Bureau." There is a pause, and the proctor eyes him critically. He doesn't fidget and simply stares back. "Of course," the proctor continues, "we could certainly use the talents of such an accomplished scientist as yourself in our division."

Yutaka frowns, protest lodged in his throat. Prior to this moment, there have been no mentions of other departments, other opportunities – becoming a shinigami had been the only option given to him. He casts his mind back to that room, to the voice that spoke to him. But here is a new direction, and the proctor is watching him intently.

"The executive chief engineer of the Five Generals," the proctor says the name reverently, as though he should know who they are, what they do, "has extended an invitation to speak with her. Needless to say, it is a great honor." Another pause, conveniently placed to allow Yutaka to take it in. "It is certainly in your best interests to listen to her proposal."

He shrugs, leaning back into the chair – the most uncomfortable one he has ever had the pleasure of sitting in, with its narrow seat and straight back, no give in the material to allow it any bend – and considers the proposition. From what little he knows of the duties of a shinigami, his prospective mental growth seems weak; shepherding lost souls, solving the grudges of the deceased, looking into the untimely deaths of those whose candle should still burn brightly were all worthy and necessary tasks, but he had dedicated his life to research. He sees no reason he shouldn't do the same in his death.

"What can it hurt?" he says and the proctor stiffens, as though his flippant attitude is unacceptable.

*

There is something about the way she looks at him that unnerves him. He is unused to this level of interest, in the heavy, assessing gaze she gives him, as though he can take their research farther and flesh it out into something new. She takes him under her wing immediately, briefing him on their findings, their goals, and their aims. Her voice is velvet wrapped steel, slithering across him, leaving him cold and a little out of breath.

(He remembers their first meeting, the way she gazed at him, openly hungry. _We need you,_ she insisted, leaning forward to cup his cheek. _We need your brilliant intellect. You would be wasted anywhere else._

And he believed her and the intensity in her eyes, the warm grip of her hand on his face. He leaned into her touch as she whispered assurances. He accepted and never looked back.)

"I want you to succeed me," she says, mere months after he comes aboard. Her lips curl up, confident that he will not turn her down. (No one has ever turned her down, not once in life or in death.) "You're more than qualified to do so." She is pressed against his body and he leans forward to taste the curve of her lips. 

There is nothing left to do but agree.

*

They tempt him with knowledge and control – things he desires, his insatiable need to know everything at all times, to figure out what makes something tick, to dictate the smallest instruction – so he complies. He offers them his mind and his body. (It makes no difference, he tells himself. This body is a mere manifestation of the one he wore in life; it is not _truly_ his. 

His body is in the ground above him, or perhaps scattered to the winds. He left no instructions on his disposal; he can only assume someone made the arrangements for him.)

It takes some time to adjust. He is simultaneously hot and cold which wreaks havoc with his body, and he spends several nights submerged in ice to cool off, only to bundle up and sit in front of a heat vent, staring blankly ahead. His mind whirls with thoughts that are not his own, randomly selecting files to be downloaded into his brain, into his being.

Whispers follow him and rumors abound. Only a select few know what he's done, what he's become (he refuses to think about that; he is still Watari Yutaka. The presence of a virtual computer terminal implanted into his brain does not make him any less _him_ ), so he ignores the stares and the inquisitive looks. 

*

Names are meaningless here, she tells him. "When you have become so much more, when you have transcended yourself, why shackle yourself to your paltry existence, Kinu?" she asks, and it is perhaps the one point he does not agree with. He tries to explain it to her, but she simply shakes her head and tells him he still lives too much in the past. (It is difficult not to, with the endless stream of data that he processes, the past of everything becoming ones and zeroes, creating a catalogue of things that have already ended.)

Still, he learns them, even as the people the names belong to come and go. There are only two stationary figures, Gyokuto and Hinote.

It is Gyokuto who understands. "We're more than these identities," he says, leaning against Yutaka's desk, brow furrowed in thought. "We can't simply erase the past to focus on the future." 

Yutaka agrees.

"We were alive, once," he continues with a faraway look, and Yutaka wonders what he is remembering, what his life was like before this one. "Death doesn't change that."

*

"With that terminal in your brain," Hinote breathes, gaze fixed on the crown of Yutaka's head, "you can access all sorts of information. The birth and death records of the first human, the Karappo no Ou – the continuously expanding knowledge and memory of Meifu's first ruler, Yama. Whatever you need, you simply have to _think it_ , Kinu." He smiles and it is bitter and twisted, and Yutaka understands – he wanted this, what Yutaka has. 

Yutaka's smile is sharp.

"Care to try it?" he sneers, eyes now locked with Yutaka's. "The sheer volume of information at your disposal is staggering. That is, if you are still confident you can handle it."

"Better than you, I imagine," Yutaka replies calmly, settling against the wall. 

*

She departs without a word, leaving him to his own devices. They are his now, the project wholly under his command. He has anticipated this moment, has imagined the way he would feel (triumphant, overwhelmed, critical of everything) but it does not meet his expectations. He feels cold and empty. (He is always cold now. A side effect, they say; the terminal needs to be cooled to prevent overheating. He has taken to wearing turtlenecks under his clothing, an extra layer close to his skin to prevent whatever heat his body now produces from escaping.)

The project is underway, and he throws himself into it, throwing orders about him and expecting them to be accomplished. He does not wait, does not take kindly to time being wasted. They are on a deadline (have always been on a deadline, but no one knows what the deadline _is_ , only that there is one) and he does not know how far behind they are.

"Self-reliant," he says, and they listen. They do not trust _him_ , but they trust the machine in his head and his intellect, they trust the vision that they have put together with him under the previous chief engineer for the past three years. 

Gyokuto does not understand, does not agree. ("We are nothing but pawns," he says into the air, and Yutaka can feel the undercurrent of anger and frustration, warm and thick, suffocating. Gyokuto dips his foot into the water as Yutaka finishes another lap. His arms are braced against the concrete, head tilted towards the ceiling. "What good will this do for us, Kinu? What good will this do Meifu?"

Yutaka does not have an answer for that, increasingly doesn't have an answer to any of Gyokuto's questions. He only knows that he believes in this, that he is _living_ for this and the completion of Mother.)

The final component is him, of course. The purpose of the implant was made clear years ago, the previous chief's words rattling through his head. ( _We could use your intellect,_ she had said, and he had believed, still believes her, but it is only recently that he has begun to understand what that _meant_. He can give life to that which would not normally possess it, and he can make Mother _real_.) They are all present when he is hooked up to Mother, chest bare to the cool air in the lab. 

"We will need to synchronize your thought patterns to the algorithms built into Akasha, Chief," their programmer tells him, and he nods. Gyokuto is watching him, shock and horror warring on his face, and Yutaka focuses on the ceiling, blocking everything else out.

"Let's get started."

*

He looks at Yutaka as though he has lost his mind. (He hasn't, of course. Everything is there, functioning and online, exactly as it ought. Sometimes he thinks it would be better to crash; to allow everything to go blank. To be alone in his head for once without the constant stream of information and memories and the ones and zeroes. Even with Mother self-aware, he is still the intermediary, will always be the intermediary. Without him, Mother would die, just as he died, and the information lost. 

He never would, of course. Above all, he prizes his intellect, and Mother is the pinnacle of his research, the outcome of his blood and thoughts alone. Despite everything, he could never let her die, not as long as he could fix her, rebuild her.)

"You've sold your mind and body to JuOhChou," Gyokuto spits. Yutaka is too tired to say anything in his defense (there is no defense; he has done exactly as accused. His mind runs Mother, his body powers her. He is both the child and the creator, and he will never, ever be free of her.) There are too many thoughts running through his head – half-remembered conversations, algorithms, files opening and closing too fast to catch the contents – so he watches as Gyokuto's face transforms, goes from furious to blank. He knows his eyes are slits, telling Gyokuto he is there, but so is Mother. (Yutaka is never alone, not anymore.) "You make me sick."

Without another word, Gyokuto leaves.

(It's the last time he sees Gyokuto awake.

Sometimes, when he thinks back on it all, he wishes he would have said something, anything. 

_You make me sick._ )

*

He is furious when he learns of it. (It should have been _him_ , always him, never Gyokuto.) He demands to know whose idea it was, demands to know what happened, how it can be fixed.

None of them look the least bit concerned that one of their own is lying prone in a coma, hooked to a machine that he hated at the end. "Enma-Daioh-sama instructed it, and he volunteered," they tell him, and Yutaka glares. There had been no communications to him, nothing to hint that another person was needed.

Slowly, he turns to the terminal that houses Mother and places his hand on the touch screen, simultaneously synching the mainframe in his mind to the one before him. _Personal DNA Identification Matched_ flashes on the screen, followed by _Welcome to the Akasha system, Chief Engineer._

They watch him, and there is the hint of a smile on Hinote's face as Yutaka's pupils dilate and compress into slits. Yutaka ignores him.

*

The laboratory is no longer a haven to him; it is a cage. He wanders the halls, restless, unable to relax. He has been chained to Mother day in and day out, but he is unable to reach the computer's server where Gyokuto sleeps. Over the course of the project, he has laid backdoors, remote access points accessible by him alone, but they are no use here. He is helpless, beaten by his own creation.

He continues to pace.

A year passes.

Gyokuto does not wake up.

*

"What are you doing here?" the ruler of Gokan demands.

"I want out," Yutaka says flatly. "I was guaranteed my existence after the completion of Akasha."

The other man laughs. "You know you can't back out now," he says, incredulous. "You _are_ Akasha, Kinu, and this realm is your cage."

"I will not be bound here," Yutaka says slowly, quietly.

"Indeed," a voice says. Yutaka knows this voice, though he has not heard it in nearly a decade. He turns to find a man half hidden in shadow, dark hair cascading down his side.

"Enma-Daioh-sama." 

"What do you wish, Kinu?" Enma-Daioh ignores Gokan's ruler, focusing intensely on Yutaka. 

"I want out."

He swears he can hear Enma-Daioh smile. "Then you will be free."

*

The Summons Department is everything that Gokan is not: bright, cheerful, full of _energy_ , warm. Chief Konoe looks him up and down, and Yutaka can see the gears turning in his head, the questions he has but will not ask. (He's seen his own file – the blacked out dates, the sparse words and missing information. Anyone would have questions about a transfer with no background.) "We work in pairs here," Chief Konoe informs him, giving him a quick tour of the division. "You go out with one, you come back with one. No exceptions."

Yutaka smiles. "Got it."

Konoe eyes him. "You'll be heading our R&D department when you're not in the field. Tatsumi will show you to the lab and then introduce you to your partner. Your partner will brief you on your assignment." 

*

Tatsumi Seiichirou is everything he expects him to be. (There are perks to being the power source to the main computer in their world, and his access has yet to be cut off. Despite the hidden edge of his quest for knowledge, he still thirsts for more.) 

"You will submit any funding requests to me by 17:00 Friday, else they will be denied without review," Tatsumi says briskly, leading him down another corridor. "You are expected to report for our morning meetings at 8:00 sharp; tardiness will not be accepted."

"That's a bit early for me," Yutaka yawns.

"Then I would suggest you purchase an alarm clock." 

*

His partner is Tsuzuki Asato, a melancholy man who is prone to sudden bursts of cheerfulness. When they are out on assignment, Tsuzuki is deadly serious, treating each soul with respect; away from the world of the living, he is energetic, bounding through the office in search of sweets or away from Tatsumi. Yutaka privately thinks Tsuzuki _feels_ too much, but it is difficult for him to truly say that is the case. (He can't remember the last time he felt anything but cold and anger, but it pales in comparison to the life Tsuzuki has lead.)

( _You make me sick._ )

*

He is in the middle of an experiment (he had never known something as uncertain as chemistry could be so intriguing. He is used to numbers and phrases, everything having meaning and everything being certain, predictable) when Tatsumi stalks into the laboratory and slams a piece of paper onto the desk holding Yutaka's latest failure.

"Tatsumi-san!" Yutaka says cheerfully, holding up a vial of frothy pink foam. "Care for a taste of my latest invention?"

"What is _this_?" Tatsumi's jaw is clenched, and Yutaka thinks he can make out the faintest trace of a vein in his forehead. 

He looks down at the paper and skims the page. "A funding request."

"I am uncertain as to where you think you _are_ ," Tatsumi says quietly. "But we do not have the budget for your inane _whims_."

Yutaka is about to wave the concern off when he remembers. ( _Of course, any funding you desire will be yours,_ Enma-Daioh said as Yutaka left. _You simply need request it._ ) He forces the smile on his face to stay where it is and laughs. It sounds strained, but Tatsumi is too busy seething to notice. "You wound me with your accusations, Tatsumi-san," he insists, placing the vial back onto the burner. "I'm just trying to be helpful."

"You have destroyed more property in the year you have been here than any other member of the division," Tatsumi hisses. "Including _Tsuzuki-san_."

Yutaka flinches a little at that. "But I _have_ upgraded all of the computers and taken over first aid duty."

"Most of your _patients_ were also your _victims_."

"You say victims as though I _meant_ for them to get hurt," he shrugs.

"Watari-san," Tatsumi says, and Yutaka mentally applauds his patience. "Your funding request has been _denied_. And furthermore," he continues, cutting off Yutaka before he can say anything, "any additional requests will summarily be _denied_ until your debts are paid off."

*

He tries, at least once a week, to break through Mother's defenses, to wake Gyokuto. It is exhausting and painful. They have changed the passwords, but not the algorithms (they can never change the algorithms, not without risking Mother crashing all around them). They have gotten more creative with their anti-breach defenses, but it is easy to disable each level of Jigoku, to access the mainframe. The backdoor accesses have not yet been sealed (Hinote is not intelligent enough to break through the mess of code Yutaka had written for it, string after string of duplicate codes forming the mainframe interspersed with separate code in loops, creating the gateways. Deciphering it is dangerous when one wrong move can cause an immediate outage), but they have been covered, making them slightly less attractive as access points.

His latest attempt leaves him with a migraine and a horrible case of the shakes. His body is too cold and he adds another layer to his usual outfit. (He is careful about his eyes; he can explain away physical symptoms as side effects, but he cannot do the same with his pupils.)

No one says anything when he slinks into the morning meeting and places his head on the desk, although he does see Tsuzuki and Tatsumi exchange worried looks. (He supposes his misery is good for something.)

*

He is waiting for Yutaka in the lab.

"What do you want?" 

The other man smiles. "Kinu," Hinote says. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"My name," Yutaka says slowly, coldly, "is not Kinu."

He laughs and laughs and laughs, but Yutaka remains unmoved. "You think you can choose?" he asks. Yutaka says nothing. "You were _chosen_ , Kinu; you can't shrug off responsibility when it no longer suits you." He comes close, so close that Yutaka can taste his aftershave on his tongue. "You belong to us," he hisses against the shell of his ear. "It's only a matter of time until you come back."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken" Yutaka replies, deliberately turning his back to him. "I am _not_ coming back." There is no need to, he doesn't say; he can continue his work here in this lab, away from watchful eyes and ever-scheming acquaintances. 

"You'll return," he promises. "And when you do, we'll be waiting."

(He stops his weekly attempts to wake Gyokuto after this. _Give it time,_ he tells himself. _Figure it out before rushing headlong into it._

It doesn't stop the constant refrain of Gyokuto's voice whispering _you make me sick_. Yutaka tries not to think about it.)

*

He takes fewer assignments, preferring instead to hole up in the laboratory with his experiments and inventions. (001 and 002 are friendly enough, although he despairs of ever allowing the penguin out of his sight. Tatsumi has threatened to cage it the next time it escapes the lab.) Tsuzuki has long since taken a new partner (four, at Yutaka's last count), and Yutaka has made it a game to scare any potential partners away. It passes the time and allows him to concentrate on less important things. (He's still quite proud of the tentacle powder.)

There are no more visits, although he doubts anyone knows of the previous one; he doesn't desire to bring attention to this new life of his, where he is not Chief Engineer or Kinu, but Watari Yutaka, resident mad scientist and first aid expert. 

(Kinu is dead, if he ever lived at all.

He remembers Gyokuto's words from all those years ago: _We can't simply erase the past to focus on the future._ He tries to remember that, to live by it.

He promises himself, one day, one day, he'll free Gyokuto. Their past will make way for their futures, whatever they may be. 

Yutaka has no hope for his own – despite everything, he is still proud of Mother, of what she can do, what she is and will become. And only death can free him; so long as he lives, so does Mother. But Gyokuto can be free of this mess Yutaka has made. 

And that will be all that matters.)


End file.
